


The Crimson Heart

by OpalSpirit



Category: Crimson Peak (2015), Crimson Peak (2015) RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 19th Century, America, Anatomical drawings, Angst and Feels, Artists, Atticus - Freeform, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Immigration & Emigration, Inspired by Crimson Peak (2015), Introverts, Jealousy, Kinda like a retelling but not really, Michael Faudet, Nikita Gill, Pablo Neruda's Poetry, Pain, Period Typical Attitudes, Proud Parents, Pseudonyms, Sabotage, Sculpture, Writing, aspiring author, beau taplin, botanical sketches, established name, established work, marble, the empress of slow burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalSpirit/pseuds/OpalSpirit
Summary: Using marble and paint, she created things of extraordinary beauty. Sculptures and sketches came alive beneath her hands.Her skill however, came at a cost. Unable to establish herself under her true name, she uses another to display and sign her work. Work that soon stands proud in the houses of America's wealthy. Tradesmen and noble alike. Men like Mr.Carter Cushing, whose daughter Edith, is an aspiring author.Her work soon captured the attention of nobles from abroad, siblings Sir Thomas and Lady Lucille Sharpe. However, they remain in the dark as to the work's true creator.Hidden in the shadow of her working-class roots, she sees him and is inspired to create her greatest work yet. One she will sign with her true name. A thing of tragic beauty as her heart is slowly drawn to him, only to watch him court another. As her heart begins to crack, she fails to see what is right before her. That she did not go as unnoticed, or as unloved as she first thought.
Relationships: Edith Cushing/Thomas Sharpe, Thomas Sharpe/Reader, Thomas Sharpe/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	1. Something as small as a pebble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Sun_Forged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sun_Forged/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to plant a seed in your mind, some tiny particle of thought that bares a remnant of me. So little by little, day by day, you find yourself thinking of me, until one morning, you will wake up and realize that you can't think of anything else. 
> 
> ~ Lang Leave (Anything Else)

The sounds of a chisel chipping away at stone became like the ticking of a clock. Only this clock did not keep time as others did, echoing in the candlelit greenhouse that stood beside a darkened house. Its inhabitants having long since sought the sweet embrace of sleep.

The light from the countless candles, some old and some new, cast the teeming greenhouse in a soft ethereal glow. It was near the centre of the enclosure from which the activity came. Perched on a low standing ladder, was a young woman. With one hand she held a rather sharp looking chisel, while in the other was a sturdy mallet. Her hair had been hurriedly pulled away from her face, the stray strands curling slightly as sweat beaded on her forehead and neck. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, her bottom lip red from where her teeth had worried it.

Countless sketches of her latest piece surrounded her, lying haphazardly scattered on low tables so she might have a view of all of them. Some in charcoal, others in pencil. They had left her hands as black as a miner's and her face streaked from where she had absently swiped drops of perspiration away.

Marble dust coated her hair and forearms, her hands were almost white from it. The larger chunks had long since fallen to the ground, with now only smaller chips falling away as she focused on the details. She wore no protective apron to shield her modest clothing from the evidence of her work.

Stepping down from the ladder, she turned to one of the tables and snatched up a drawing, seemingly at random. Her e/c eyes flew between the page and the emerging sculpture as though comparing. Muttering lowly to herself, she lay the chisel down on the table and selected a much smaller one from the roll of leather that lay open on a small a table directly beside the sculpture.

Returning the sketch to its place, she climbed the ladder and refocused. This piece had been commissioned of her by a Mr. Edward Williams as a wedding gift for his brother. It was seven feet tall and depicted the Greek god Poseidon holding his trident aloft. A rather strange gift for a wedding, she had initially thought to herself and even now as she used the smaller chisel to work the details into the trident's staff. She had been at it for half a year now. It had taken up a good portion of her days and all her nights as she worked to have it completed before the deadline in early August. Her days had been taken up by the university for whom she provided numerous botanical, and at times, anatomical drawings for their classes in botany and human biology.

She counted herself luckier than most girls her age who hailed from similar backgrounds as she. Even if her work was known by a name that was not fully her own.

The money she would receive would help to feed herself and her parents for the next few months at least.

The night soon relinquished its dominion over her part of the world and gave way to the soft hues of dawn and that of a new day. She sighed upon seeing the morning light stream in through the glass panels of the greenhouse. Once again she had spent the whole night there. With not a wink of sleep.

The university required her for most days of the week but mostly just for the mornings before their classes would start in the afternoons.

Stepping down from the ladder, she set down the chisel and mallet and looked up at the piece so far. It was coming along rather nicely, although, now that she looked, she had made the god a little younger looking than he usually appeared within mythology.

Dusting herself off as much as she could, she made her way over to a table that stood separate and more among the luscious and flowering plants that gave off a faint perfume. Pulling together a number of her most recent sketches as well as those in progress, she compiled them neatly into a simple leather binder and secured it with a strap of leather.

Darting around the greenhouse, she made certain to extinguish any candles that had not burnt themselves out during the night. Then, with her file in hand, she made for the house where her parents were already stirring.

"Up all night again were we?" Her father remarked upon her entry into the kitchen, his eyes twinkled fondly as he took in her appearance.

"I am afraid so," she replied, fighting a yawn. "August will soon be here and I want it finished a little before."

"You need to take better care of yourself," her mother tutted, passing her daughter a cup of freshly brewed tea and smoothing her hair. "You will waste away like this and what good will your talent be then?"

She sighed and nodded, accepting the tea and sitting down opposite her father. "Mr. Williams wants to see it," she said wearily. "He wants to see it before it is delivered to his brother."

"No doubt to make good on his investment ey?" Her father replied, earning a small nod from his daughter.

"What am I going to tell him?" She asked, looking between her parents. "How will I keep him from discovering that it was I who completed the work and not the man he was lead to believe would?"

"The same way you always do," her mother assured her.

"I don't see why you can't claim ownership," her father huffed, taking a sip from his cup of black coffee. "You made the bloody thing."

"Father you know why," she replied, sighing.

The early morning passed by a little too quickly for her tastes, for soon she was out the door, clutching her file to her chest. She was determined not to be late again.

The university itself was a series of the most beautiful buildings she had ever seen and reminded her sorely of Dublin, her hometown. The style of architecture was very much the same and made the all-too familiar sensation of homesickness well up within her.

Shaking her head, she hurried towards it. Squeezing through the wrought iron gates, she ran along the loose gravel drive, her skirts swishing around her ankles and threatening to tangle around her legs. Her worn boots crunched on the tiny stones, making her wince as one slipped through a hole at the tip of the shoe.

She didn't have time to stop. Even as the irksome little stone worked its way down the show until it was lodged snugly beneath the ball of her foot.

Tracing her way down the well-known stone passageways and galleries, she soon came to the office of the Professor that oversaw the school of medicine.

"Right on time," he said, smiling upon seeing her. Professor Dawson was a kind man, strict with his students and well respected among his peers. "Come in my dear."

Relief flooded through her as she crossed the threshold into the familiar lab-turned-office.

"Have you the illustrations I asked for?"

Nodding quickly, she opened the file she held and began to sort through the various sheaves of paper, each baring a different image. Some had been completed with colour, while other required a little more attention.

"Here we are," she said at last, pulling out a selection of pages and passing them to the waiting Professor.

"Excellent," he murmured, taking the pages and making his way over to his desk before sitting down and examining the images.

She waited patiently, fervently hoping she had managed to capture what the Professor had described in such detail.

"Extraordinary," Professor Dawson said softly, shaking his head. In his hands were meticulous diagrams and illustrations of anatomically correct human hearts, brains, bones and the complicated weave of tendons. "Have you ever considered taking up the medical profession?" He asked, looking up to meet her surprised gaze.

"I fear I would not be suited," she replied shyly. "I may know how draw them, but I fear I would not be strong enough to see it everyday, before me."

"In any case," he replied, standing up and moving to stand before her. "I thank you for the time you take to make those for us. My students will find them most useful, as your last ones were."

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling her face burn with familiar heat.

"I have just one question."

"Oh?"

"In all the time you have provided these illustrations," Professor Dawson said, "you have never once signed them. At least not with your name. Why is that?"

"I believe you know why Professor," she replied. "Such work is not expected of a woman and frowned upon when she does so."

"But do you not wish for recognition for your work?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But it will not come to me in this lifetime, so I must make do how I can."

"I am certain that one day your work will receive its due," Professor Dawson said kindly.

With a murmured goodbye and a brief curtsy, she swept from the room, making her way towards the university's extensive greenhouse. It was much bigger than the one at home and often aroused a sense of envy.

Nevertheless, she worked diligently among the many flowering plants, their leaves sometimes brushing up against her, making her smile. Under the watchful eye of Professor Maydew, she completed a series of illustrations that depicted the dissections of various poisonous plants, many of whom bore deceptively beautiful flowers.

It was nearing midday when she finally completed her work and was permitted to return home.

The day was a beautiful one, but one she would enjoy from within her greenhouse-turned-studio. It seemed that the stone had not left her shoe and caused her to limp rather awkwardly.

Muttering under her breath, she sighed. There really was nothing for it. Waiting until she had left the university grounds, she sought out the nearest wall to lean against.

"Miss, are you alright? Is anything amiss?"

The strange accented voice confused her and made her turn slowly in the direction of the speaker. She came face-to-face with a young man who was looking at her with genuine concern in his sky blue eyes. He smiled gently once their gazes met.

"I am quite alright," she said softly, feeling a strange shyness creep over her. "But I thank you for your concern Sir. There really is no need to trouble yourself." Yes indeed, what was someone as finely dressed as he doing by worrying about her, a total stranger?

"Your limp was rather pronounced," he said gently. "Are you injured?"

She shook her head. "Merely a pebble in my shoe Sir."

"As irksome as they can be," he replied, "I am relieved it is nothing too serious."

"No," she whispered, finally allowing herself to look at him. Oh by the heavens and stars above. He was tall and slimly built, dark hair crowned his head in soft curls and framed a face that took her breath away. Oh how she would have loved to carve someone such as he. To immortalise that beauty in stone so that she might look at it whenever she chose and let the world see it too.

"Thomas, we really ought to get going," a woman said to him, sidling up to stand at his side and looked down at her. She was his height and bore the same aristocratic features and bearing as he. "Eunice is very eager to meet you."

"Of course," he replied, smiling briefly at the woman beside him before turning back to her. "I am glad you are alright miss," he said.

"Thank you Sir," she bobbed a brief curtsy and waited until the pair had faded from sight until reaching down and pulling off the boot to shake out the offending stone. Slipping the shoe back on, she sighed and allowed herself one glance in the direction where the handsome stranger had gone.

Yes, that night she would go to her studio, but not the one in the greenhouse. No, she would go to the one where her most private collection was housed and created. Where sketches no one ever saw came to life in stone she had managed to pilfer.

A new project glimmered into view on the horizon and this time, it would be one she would sign with the name she was born with.


	2. Set in stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, like a stream of water, will always follow the line of least resistance. If you must force its path, it's not meant for you. 
> 
> ~ Beau Taplin (The Line of Least Resistance)

The chatter of those around him faded into a dull hum. A sound he likened to the monotonous grinding and pounding of the mines back home. He became fascinated with the small fire that danced in the rather ornate hearth. A larger one was not needed, for it was not winter. It was a welcome distraction from the afternoon tea Lucille had insisted he accept the invitation to.

Lucille, who sat beside him, a cup of tea balanced perfectly in her hands. Though she spoke with the woman opposite her, Thomas did not hear what she was saying. The light from the open window aided in transforming the flames into lighter versions of the original. They appeared almost washed out, and for a brief moment, he saw the fabric of a gown, hanging inches above the ground and swishing around booted feet.

"Thomas?"

The sound of his name drew him from his thoughts and painted a polite smile on his lips.

Lucille looked to her brother for a brief moment, her dark brows knitting together in thought before they smoothed out.

And just like that, he was thrust back into the world he had been born into. The meaningless chatter of high society and the blatantly flirtatious glances of the young women that looked his way.

"I apologise, my thoughts were elsewhere," he said smoothly. 

"It is no matter," Mrs.McMichael twittered, dismissing his apology with a delicate wave. "We were only discussing the upcoming wedding."

"Wedding?" Thomas asked, glancing at Lucille. "It appears my memory is in need of refreshing for I find myself at a loss."

"The Williams wedding," Mrs.McMichael explained, "your sister has made a mention that you both have also been invited."

Thomas nodded. "Of course, yes we have."

"A most gracious invitation," Lucille said, leaning forward to place her cup back on its saucer.

"Forgive my curiosity," Mrs.McMichael said, "but how is it that you know the Williams?"

"A business associate through our late father," Thomas explained, "they were kind enough to keep up the acquaintance."

Beside him, Lucille hummed in agreement.

"I gather yourself and your lovely daughter," Thomas paused and smiled charmingly at Eunice McMichael, "will also be in attendance?"

"Why of course," her mother replied, obviously fighting a smile of her own. "My son Alan will be accompanying us. He is a friend of Edith's, who I believe you have met?"

Thomas nodded. "Indeed I have. A charming young woman."

"Yes well," Mrs.McMichael murmured, "she thinks herself to be a writer."

Thomas did not miss the note of disdain in the older woman's words and felt a strange need to defend Miss Cushing. "Her work has merit," he said simply, being sure to add enough weight to his words. "There is no harm in wishing to make one's mark on the world."

Lucille remained silent as she observed her brother. Her slightly narrowed eyes regarded him thoughtfully. His divergence from the plan at such an early stage could very well present difficulties for the future.

The tension was thankfully lifted when refreshments were brought in and the chatter resumed.

"You seem rather far away," came Eunice's soft voice, penetrating his thoughts and prompting him to look at her. "Your eyes tell me that you were distant."

"My thoughts occupy me when there is nothing for me to say," Thomas replied.

"Perhaps a tour of our gallery would help to provide such an opportunity?"

The baronet smiled gently. "Is that a rather scandalous suggestion I hear my dear?" He asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Eunice blushed delicately before turning to whisper something to her mother.

"An excellent idea," Mrs.McMichael agreed.

Thomas shared a look with his sister, who nodded encouragingly, even adding a small smile.

"Very well," Thomas said before standing and offering Eunice his arm. "Shall we my dear?"

Taking his arm, Eunice allowed him to lead her from the sitting rooms and out into the corridor beyond.

The walk to the gallery was mercifully a short one. It was a splendid sight to be sure, and one glance at Eunice told Thomas that she was more than proud of her family's extensive collection of art.

The pieces were exquisite, each more detailed and artful than the last. Paintings in oil and acrylic that hung surrounded by gilt frames and statues carved from the whitest marble.

"They are all rather beautiful," Thomas remarked truthfully to her and saw her blush with evident pride.

"Indeed," she replied softly, her gaze fixed upon him. "But I fear there is one piece that is not within this room that you absolutely must see."

"And why is that?"

"You shall see."

With those words, Thomas followed Eunice from the gallery and became curious as they made their way towards the entry hall. He made to ask just where this supposed marvel was, when she stopped.

"There," she whispered, pointing to the alcove formed by the twin staircases.

How he had missed it was beyond him. The piece stood at easily six feet tall and was carved from marble that bore veins of silver. "St.Michael," he breathed, for that is indeed what it was. A statue of the archangel Michael, his wings unfurled in all their glory. As though in a trance, Thomas moved toward it and peered at it with narrowed eyes. The details were astounding. It looked as though the angel had been living one moment and then was simply transformed into stone.

"Beautiful is it not?" Eunice asked from her place behind him. "Mother had it made in honour of our family name."

"It is incredible," Thomas replied, blue eyes travelling over the carved form before him. "Who is the artist?" He asked, turning back to his guide.

"A Mr.A.Byrne," Eunice replied.

"Has he completed many other pieces?"

The young woman nodded. "Indeed he has, but no one has ever met him. Word has it that he is a recluse."

"A recluse?" Thomas repeated.

Eunice nodded. "Indeed. Mother had been rather eager to meet him, but was informed by his assistant that he preferred not to meet with people."

"Not unusual for an artist I suppose," Thomas murmured thoughtfully. "Although sometimes it would be nice to meet the faces behind the work."

Behind him, Eunice hummed and murmured in soft agreement.

"This assistant of his..." Thomas said, turning fully to face her, his words trailing off.

"She handled everything with mother," Eunice explained.

"His assistant is a woman?"

Eunice nodded and curled her lip in evident distaste. "Yes."

"Interesting," Thomas murmured. "And you said she took care of everything?"

His companion nodded. "She even delivered it, which we found to be a little strange."

"How so?" Thomas asked, quirking an eyebrow. "It is evident that her employer trusts her a great deal."

"It wasn't that," Eunice replied, "it was how she acted. How she behaved when the statue was being brought in."

"Perhaps she merely wished to keep a close eye on her employer's work?" Thomas suggested. "It must have taken him a great deal of time to create a piece such as this."

"No," Eunice said softly, drawing a curious look from Thomas. "No, she seemed to fret at every little movement and hovered like a moth over a flame." She looked up and met Thomas's gaze with her own. "She was acting as though she were the one that had created it. As though it were her work."

"It is evident that she respects her employer enough to want to protect his work," Thomas said. "She may not have made it, but her over-protective behaviour ensured its safe delivery, did it not?"

After a moment of thought, Eunice nodded. "Yes. I suppose so."

"Would you perchance know her name?" Thomas asked, surprising her.

"A Miss Y/N Byrne," Eunice replied, "I do not know how I have remembered that. I have not laid eyes on her since that day."

"Miss Byrne," Thomse repeated the name to himself. "Is she a relative of the artist then?"

Eunice raised an elegant brow. "What makes you ask that?"

"They bare the same family name," the baronet explained. "Irish too, if I am not mistaken."

"Yes, she did have a slight accent," Eunice murmured thoughtfully. "Though I never spoke with her myself. I only ever heard her speak with mother."

"Thomas, there you are," Lucille's greeting cut short any reply Thomas might have made.

Looking up, Thomas watched his sister descend the stairs with Mrs.McMichael trailing behind her, her eyes on her daughter.

The departure from the McMichael residence was made with a promise to visit again before the wedding.

"You spent a great deal of time with Miss McMichael," Lucille remarked on the drive back to their residence.

"Yes," Thomas replied, sighing. "The family has quite the collection of artworks. Very fine, they certainly have an eye for it."

"You spoke of nothing else?" Lucille pressed.

Thomas shook his head. "I hate to disappoint you, you know that. But no."

"Remember why we are here," she murmured, thankful for the the barrier between driver and passengers.

"I have not forgotten," Thomas sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "And I am not likely too."

"See that you don't," Lucille said, "your budding friendship with Miss Cushing must not distract you from our goal. Our purpose."

"Our purpose," Thomas repeated softly, a slight tremor in his voice.

Leaning her head on her brother's shoulder, Lucille let her eyes drift closed, missing how Thomas's opened and looked to the carriage roof, shining with tears. He hated this. _Their purpose._


	3. The assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loneliness, is a fire, which I hold close to my skin, to see how much pain I can stand, before running to the water. 
> 
> ~ Atticus

"Darling?" Her mother called upon entering the greenhouse.

"Over here," came the answer, making the older woman smile.

As she neared the centre of the enclosure, she saw her daughter standing rather close to the statue, atop the topmost rung of the ladder, a very small chisel in hand. "Have you seen the time?" She asked, her smile growing.

"I won't be going into the University today mother."

"Oh? And why not?"

Y/N sighed and lowered the chisel before stepping off the ladder to face her mother. "I cannot. There is still so much left to do on this piece and Mr.Williams has sent word that he wishes to have it a week early."

"A week?!" Her mother exclaimed. "But can he do that? Is he able to change the time and date so quickly?"

Y/N shook her head and ran a trembling hand through her hair. "Usually no."

"Then why is he?"

"Because," she replied, "he is eager to show it to a few guests he has staying with him and besides," she paused as heat began to creep up her neck. "Because he is paying more than anyone ever has."

"As I recall," her mother said, approaching her daughter and wrapping her in a tight embrace. "That McMichael woman also paid a great deal, yet you stuck to the agreed timeline."

"I know," Y/N sighed and tucked her head into the crook of her mother's neck. "But that was also some time ago. I have not received a commission of such proportions for quite some time and we need the money."

"Oh my sweet girl," her mother murmured, tracing soothing patterns on her daughter's back through her dress. "Your father and I are able to manage well enough on our own. We do not wish to see you run yourself ragged for our sakes."

"It is my way of helping," Y/N murmured, "after all you both have done for me."

"You are our daughter, everything we have done for you we did out of love. Neither of us expected a repayment."

Y/N felt herself tear up at her mother's words and only hugged her tighter.

"Now since you won't be going," he mother said, planting a kiss to her daughter's crown, "will you at least come in for some breakfast? You father is still nursing his first cup of coffee."

Chuckling, Y/N nodded and followed her mother from the studio.

"Not going in today?" Her father said by way of a greeting.

Y/N shook her head and sat down beside him. "Not today, Mr.Williams wants the piece finished a week earlier than planned."

Her father's eyes widened, "but that is in three days time!"

She nodded solemnly. "Unfortunately. So I do not believe I will be getting a lot of sleep."

"But how much do you have left to do?"

"I have a few details left on the trident and the staff itself," she explained, smiling gratefully at her mother who placed a bowl of porridge down before her. "And I have yet to sign it."

"Surely that will not take three days?"

"No," she agreed. "But I would much rather have it done ahead of the desired date."

"If only everyone had your work ethic," her mother said, winking at her over her shoulder. "Things would get done so much quicker."

Y/N smiled and ducked her head as she felt a blush begin to tint her cheeks.

"So you'll be in the studio all day then?" Her father asked.

Y/N nodded and swallowed a spoonful before answering. "More or less."

"Oh?" Both her parents asked in unison.

"I have another project planned," she explained.

"Another commission?" Her father asked, taking a mouthful of his coffee.

She shook her head. "Not this one. This one will be different to the others. It will be completed in my other studio."

"Alrighty then," her father murmured, sharing a look with his wife. "Any hint as to what it might be?"

"I'm not quite there yet," Y/N replied. "But I want to sign this one. With my name. Not with Aidan's."

"About time," her father muttered, earning a chuckle from his daughter. "What changed your mind?"

Y/N paused before answering, a soft smile curving her lips. "I want this to be my very best piece."

"I thought every project was like that?" Her mother asked, returning to the table with a pot of tea.

Laughing, Y/N nodded. "While that is certainly my policy and while I indeed try to do so, I firmly believe that this piece will crown the rest of them."

"I am most intrigued to see how it turns out," her mother said, sitting opposite them. "Whatever it becomes."

~ ~ ~

An entire week had passed since their arrival and their host appeared particularly excited. When asked, he simply said it was a surprise.

Thomas and Lucille had exchanged a look.

"It will be here any moment," their host, Mr. Edward Williams announced as the siblings readied themselves to depart for their engagements for the day. "So wait just a moment. I promise you it will be most rewarding."

"If you insist," Thomas replied kindly. He was really in no great hurry. His most pressing engagement was a walk through the local park that he and Edith had arranged for the afternoon.

"I do not see what all the fuss is about," Lucille muttered from beside, raising a brow at the glare Thomas sent her.

Both siblings were startled when Mr.Williams suddenly called out to someone they could not yet see. "Miss Byrne!"

At the sound of that name, Thomas thought back onto what Eunice had told him a week prior.

"Good morning Sir," replied a younger, accented voice that Thomas found startlingly familiar. "I trust we have not come too early?"

"Most certainly not," Mr.Williams replied. "Is any assistance required?"

"Not at the moment, but thank you Sir. We appear to have it all in hand. Where do you wish for us to place it?"

"In the entrance hall, if you would."

Then, a whole lot of movement ensued before two figures emerged, one seemed to be steering what looked to be a trolley of sorts. He was a tall gentleman and heavily built, while his companion, presumably Miss Byrne, hovered next to him.

"What a small world," Thomas murmured to himself. For was this not the very same young woman he had encountered by the university upon their arrival? She looked exactly the same, save of course, for the limp that had first drawn his eye to her. Her hair was pulled back into a simple, yet neat bun and her gown, a modest design with sleeves that reached to her wrists and was a pale, dove grey.

Thomas watched silently as the pair began to unpackage the item that had been borne in on the trolley.

"The fuss she's making," Lucille whispered to him, shaking her head, her eyes fixed on the young woman who was being particularly careful with removing the protective coverings. "You would think she made it instead of merely having delivered it."

Thomas said nothing in reply, his sister's words hanging in the air between them. Little by little the fabric was removed and the white marble was revealed. Standing at seven feet tall, it was undeniably impressive.

"Marvelous," Mr.Williams praised, eyes slightly widened.

Miss Byrne smiled softly at the compliment, her eyes too were directed at the statue of the Greek ocean god. "I am glad you like it Sir," she replied. "My employer will be most appreciative."

"Not as appreciative as I am," Mr.Williams said, winking at the young woman. "Your employer is a master of his craft. It seems that I was directed down the correct path in seeking him out."

"I shall tell him," she said softly.

"Now," Mr.Williams said, clapping his hands together, startling the young woman. "Your employer has held up his end of the bargain rather exceptionally. Come into my office and the payment will be made forthwith."

"Very good Sir," Miss Byrne replied, nodding and following him off to the left of the entrance hall.

While Thomas's curious gaze followed the young woman, Lucille noticed with no small amount of annoyance that the man who had accompanied Miss Byrne was looking right at them. His eyes were narrowed and were more than a little hostile.

"Thomas," she whispered, drawing her brother's attention back to her. "Let's go. We have a busy day ahead."

"Very well," he murmured in reply and began to descend when Lucille pulled him back. "What is it?"

"Let us wait until they have gone."

"Lucille?" Thomas asked softly, confused at the strange note of pleading in his sister's voice. "Is everything alright?"

She paused a moment before choosing to reply, but even then was cut off as Miss Byrne reentered the hall with Mr.Williams trailing after her.

Her companion's attention drifted away from the siblings and back to her.

"Everything settled?" He asked her, to which Miss Byrne nodded, smiling a little too widely for Lucille's liking. "Excellent."

"Indeed," the young woman agreed before turning to Mr.Williams and held out a black gloved hand. "It was a pleasure doing business with you Sir."

Taking her hand in a firm grip, Mr.Williams nodded. "Hopefully we shall have cause to do so again in the near future. Please do pass on my thanks and admiration to Mr. Byrne."

"I most certainly will," Miss Byrne replied, retracting her hand once he had released it. "I am pleased you like it Sir and I hope your brother will like it too."

With those words and a small bow, she turned on her heels, her companion by her side. Her companion cast one look over his shoulder before they disappeared through the open doors. His eyes had readily sought them out, a warning if ever Lucille saw one.

"What are you two doing skulking about up there?" Mr.Williams called up to them, "come and see."

Needing no further invitation, Thomas descended the staircase with Lucille following reluctantly behind him.

"Beautiful," was all he managed to say now that he saw the statue closer. Thomas found himself entranced. The details and lifelike rendering of the god's features took his breath away. "Magnificent."

"I couldn't say it better myself," Mr.Williams agreed, coming to stand beside him. "That Mr.Byrne is really something else. I admit I was hesitant, for I had never commissioned a piece before."

"Have your hesitations been laid to rest then?" Thomas asked, eyes still tracing over the marble figure.

"Most definitely," Mr.Williams murmured. "Such skill is rare nowadays."

"Come along brother," Lucille spoke up from behind them. "The day is passing us by and we have a great deal to be getting on with."

"Indeed," Thomas agreed and smiled apologetically at their host. "If you will excuse us Edward, our schedule is rather tight."

Their host nodded and smiled kindly. "Off you go, but I trust I will see you both at the McMichael reception tonight?"

The siblings nodded and murmured confirmation before stepping out into the late morning sun.


	4. The strength of a single flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We humans are so tortured by not properly guessing what will make us happy. 
> 
> ~ Atticus

With her manuscript tucked against her chest, Edith skipped up the steps and pushed open the door. The smile she had been wearing for the better part of the day soon fell from her lips as her gaze landed on Artemis. The light for the glass panels in the door cast shadows on the statue, revealing angles that would have otherwise remained hidden.

Setting her jaw, Edith shook her head and marched right past the alcove in which it stood.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she made her way to her chamber and went straight to her desk. Any thoughts of envy flew from her mind as she recalled Sir Thomas's kind words. She had watched from the corner of her eye as he read her work.

Sliding on her spectacles, Edith opened the leather binder that held her work and began to read over the existing material. The pen her father had given her, she held delicately and tapped it absentmindedly on the wooden surface of her desk as she read. As she only had access to a typewriter while at her father's office, she would make do with what she could while at home. Soon she became lost in the world she had created. The dialogue spoken by the characters rang in her ears as though properly spoken and the scenery came to life around her. 

Smiling faintly to herself, Edith hoped that she would be too far gone for her father to convince her to attend the McMichael reception. She had already made up her mind not to go, social gatherings such as those meant little to her, especially when given the opportunity to remain where she was, working on her book. A book she fervently hoped to get published one day. She had been unsuccessful thus far in even finding an agent that would be willing to represent her. As though on instinct, her mind's eye latched onto the image of the marble figure below. The lifelike rendering of the goddess's features and body and the intricate detail in her simple clothing captivated many.

Signed under a different name, Edith knew full well who it was created by. She had seen her many times, walking to and from the university. A woman her age, perhaps a year or two younger.

The young woman's skill was undeniable and was recognised by many, Edith's own father included. She had them all fooled. Hiding behind a name that wasn't even hers. Edith would have been lying if she had not been tempted to do the same, if only to get her own work out into the world. Yet, she detested liars of any sort.

But it was not simply the desire for truth that caused a rather familiar acrid taste to enter her mouth. Swallowing hard, she blinked and shook her head to refocus. An attempt that was only partially successful before it was interrupted by a soft series of knocks on her door.

"Yes?"

Her maid, Annie, opened the door and bobbed a quick curtsy. "Apologies miss, but your father is asking for you below."

Nodding in dismissal, Edith sighed and slid her spectacles off and placed them carefully on the desk before her. Rubbing her eyes, she took a deep breath before releasing it and standing up with a groan.

Leaving her room, she made her way to the staircase and smiled down at her father who was, at present, in the process of fixing his bow tie in the mirror. Her soft footfalls on the carpeted stairs alerted him.

"There you are my dear," Mr.Cushing smiled up at his daughter. "Standing by your decision I see?"

Edith smiled and nodded, stepping forward to assist him. "Indeed I am."

"And I cannot convince you to change your mind?"

Her smile became a grin and she shook her head. "I am afraid not, father. I am resolute in my decision." Stepping back to survey her completed work, she smoothed her hands over his lapels, straightening them. "There," she said, "all set. You look very handsome."

Chuckling, her father shook his head before kissing her cheek. "Thank you my dear."

"Why do you dislike him so?" Edith asked suddenly, seemingly at random, startling her father.

"Why do I dislike who?" Mr.Cushing asked, "there are many people I dislike so you may have to be a little more specific."

"You know who I mean, father," Edith replied, sighing. "The baronet who came to speak with you not two days passed. Sir Thomas Sharpe."

"To tell you the truth my dear," her father replied, "I have no real answer for you. Only that something does not sit quite when it comes to him."

"But could you at least give him a chance?" Edith asked, clasping her hands before her. "You appreciate hard work and ingenuity, do you not? And I believe that he fulfills both, don't you think?"

Mr.Cushing eyed his daughter before sighing heavily, "you are correct there, my dear. But I fear you eye has wondered."

When she said nothing in reply, only ducking her head in a futile effort to hide the blush that creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks, he received his answer.

"As I thought," he murmured.

The honking of a car horn brought them both back to the situation at hand.

"That would be young Doctor McMichael," he said, smiling at his daughter. "He has always been rather fond of you."

Rolling her eyes, Edith followed her father. "He is a dear friend," she muttered, earning a chuckle from her father.

Soon the main doors opened to admit a rather soaked Alan McMichael, made so by the torrential rain outside. "Mr.Cushing," he smiled broadly upon seeing the older man. The smile softened as he caught sight of Edith standing just behind him. "Edith, staying put are we?"

Edith nodded. "Yes I am."

"Mother will be terribly saddened at your absence," Alan said with a smirk.

"Oh yes," she replied, fighting a grin of her own. "I am sure she will be positively devastated."

Chuckling, he turned back to Mr.Cushing. "Shall we?"

"Take good care of him," Edith said as she followed them after her father had shrugged on his own coat with the help of the butler. "And don't let him drink too much."

Smiling innocently in the face of her father's protests, she closed the door after them and sighed happily. Oh yes, she had quite the evening planned.

Immediately making for the stairs again, she headed straight back to her room and resumed her position from before and immersed herself in the world of her story. Only to be pulled from it not five minutes later by knocking on her door.

"Come in," she called distractedly.

"I am so sorry miss," Annie whispered upon opening the door. "But there is a gentleman here to see you."

"A gentleman?" Edith repeated, confused. "I assume he gave a name?"

Annie nodded. "A Sir Thomas Sharpe."

While the idea of being alone with him thrilled her, she had simply too much to do. So she shook her head. "Will you kindly show him out? I am simply too preoccupied at present for any company."

"I said as much, miss," Annie replied, "but he was most insistent."

"Oh very well," Edith sighed and dismissed the maid with a small wave. Taking off her glasses, she pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long, heavy breath. Standing up, she left her room and made for the stairs, only to stop at their beginning.

Thomas stood below her, unaware of her unannounced presence. His hair, already dark, was made darker from the water that still clung to it. The golden light of the lamps embraced him and softened his angular features.

Edith opened her mouth to announce herself, only to close it again. Thomas seemed most interested in what stood before him. With his head canted slightly to the side, he appeared entirely captivated. The more she watched him, the more she wished that her work would gain the recognition that _hers_ did. The respect that came with an established name.

"Sir Thomas," she said at last, finally drawing his attention to her as she descended the stairs.

"Miss Cushing," he replied, bowing low and earning a small smile from her.

Folding her hands before her, Edith continued. "If you have come to see my father then I am afraid he only just left."

"I know," Thomas replied softly. "I waited in the rain for him to leave."

Oh. This took Edith by surprise. Schooling her features, she spoke again. "Then how may I help you? Assuming that it is _me_ you came to see?"

"I admit it is," Thomas said, gracing her with a soft smile. "I find myself in need of assistance this evening."

"Oh?"

"I am a foreigner here Miss Cushing," he replied, fiddling lightly with the white evening gloves he held. "And very few faces are familiar to me as your own. I am headed to the McMichael house for the reception that is being hosted there. Would you do me the great honour of accompanying me?"

The strange pleading in his blue eyes steadily broke down Edith's resolve to stay home for the evening. She could do little but smile in return and nod, if a little shyly. "I will be just a moment."

With those words, she took her leave and swept up the stairs, calling for Annie as she went.

~ ~ ~

The ballroom was silent, save for the dramatic and passionate notes that lilted through the air. Enthusiastic applause filled the air the moment the last note faded. Standing from the piano stool, Lucille smiled and accepted the compliments from the crowd with the grace befitting her station.

Leaving the piano behind her, she approached a smiling Mrs.McMichael who promptly presented her with a bouquet of white roses encased in ferns. The lull of conversation returned to the room only for a very brief moment.

Curious to see what had caused the sudden silence, Lucille's grip on the flowers tightened minutely upon seeing Miss Cushing enter, Thomas by her side. The moment their eyes met, he seemed to lift his chin in a wordless show of defiance, his eyes almost daring her to say something.

Instead, she smiled and approached them. "You're late," she whispered.

"My apologies," Thomas replied, equally as soft as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Sir Thomas, there you are," Mrs.McMichael called delightedly, swiftly coming to join the trio, Eunice trailing behind her.

"I must apologise for my tardiness," Thomas said to her, kissing the back of her offered hand.

"There is no need," the older woman said kindly. "You are here now, that is all that matters. My dear Eunice was growing most anxious."

Behind her, Eunice smiled shyly before ducking her head to hide a delicate blush.

"Indeed," Lucille chimed in, "she claims, and correctly so, that no gentleman in America is able to dance a proper waltz."

Thomas turned to Eunice and held out a hand, "well in that case," he said, smiling at her, "you had better come with me."

Delighted with the turn of events, Mrs.McMichael clapped her hands, the sound echoing around the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, please clear some space. The baronet will now demonstrate for us the waltz, European style."

Smiling in thanks, Thomas swiped a candle from one of the passing waiters and stepped into the provided space. "Not a complicated dance really, the lady takes her place to the left of the leading gentleman. Six basic steps and that's all. However," he paused and brandished the candle he held. "It is said that the true test of the perfect waltz is for it to be so swift, and so smooth, that the candle flame will not be extinguished in the hand of the lead dancer. Now that, requires the perfect partner."

The gathered crowd held its breath as he crossed the small space, stopping before Edith. Holding out his free hand, he spoke to her. "Would you be mine?"

It took Edith a moment to realise he was speaking with her. Casting a quick glance around the room, she shook her head as she looked back to him. "No. I don't think so." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a very bewildered Eunice. "But I am sure that Eunice will be delighted."

"I dare say," Thomas replied softly, extending his hand a little more. "But I have asked you."

Hesitating for a split second, Edith sighed and finally laid her hand atop his. His gaze remained on her as he lead her to the centre of the cleared space.

"Why are we doing this?" Edith whispered as Thomas gently pulled her close to him. His chaste touch on the small of her back seared through the layers of her silken gown. Her own left hand rested lightly upon his shoulder.

"I close my eyes when things make me uncomfortable," he replied softly, leaning in so his words brushed delicately over her ear, slightly stirring the blonde strands. Drawing back, he smiled tenderly down at her. "It makes everything easier."

Never before had anyone looked at her the way Thomas did now as the music started softly in the background, prompting them. "I do not wish to close my eyes," she breathed, not wishing to look away. "I would like to keep them open."

And so they danced. Thomas leading them as he spun her across the small expanse under the watchful gaze of many.

The world faded around her, shrinking to the man before her. Edith could not help but smile up at him, and feeling her heart skip a beat when he would return the expression, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable.

When at last he spun her out for the last time, their hands remained joined and between them, the candle flame still burned steadily.


	5. Chasing inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me. 
> 
> ~ Pablo Neruda

_"Ó ifreann fuilteach!"_ Y/N hissed as she stumbled into the kitchen, struggling to pull her boots on, having only been successful with one so far.   


"Y/N!" Her mother, Elyne, scolded. "Watch your language."

"I'm sorry mother," she huffed, yanking the boot on, "I am terribly late." With those words and limping out of the kitchen with only one boot on, she hurried to the greenhouse where her file had been left. 

Dashing to the table partially obscured by plants, Y/N smiled briefly when she spotted the leather file and pulled it out from beneath the scattering of paper. "You come with me," she muttered after having filled the file with the desired sketches. With the folder tucked close, she rushed back to the kitchen. 

"Do you plan on leaving the house with your hair like that?" Her father, Liam, asked, lifting a curious eyebrow. 

Raising her free hand to her head, Y/N swore under her breath and practically threw her file onto the kitchen table in an effort to hurry back to her room. She emerged a short while later, her hair looking somewhat presentable. 

"I really have to go," she smiled apologetically at her parents. "I'll be lucky if they decide to keep me on after this."

"I am sure they will," Liam chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. 

Snatching up her file, Y/N made for the door, only to be stopped by her mother. "You may want to put on your other boot."

Very near to crying from the frustration, Y/N nodded mutely and tucked her folio under her arm and balanced on one foot as she pulled the boot on. "Right," she sighed a moment later. "I really need to go now."

"Off you go," Elyne waved her off, struggling to restrain a smile. 

Nodding, Y/N practically ripped the door open in her hurry. Only realising when she was a good distance away and about halfway to the university, that she had forgotten her gloves. 

Muttering mutinously, she clutched her folio to her chest. It was not a good start to the beginning of a new week. 

~ ~ ~ 

The day was promising to be a beautiful one. Sitting across from Edith as they enjoyed a quiet breakfast together in a rather quaint little corner cafe, Thomas smiled softly. The city was beginning to become a little more active and the bustle of people became more as the morning wore on. 

Offering his arm for her to take, Thomas lead them back onto the street.

Meandering along the streets, Edith pointed out buildings of note, vividly describing their history as she did so. 

"You know," Thomas said, drawing her smiling face to his, "a few of these buildings remind me of a number ones in London."

"Really?" Edith asked, her eyes lighting up as an idea struck her. Gasping softly, she began to eagerly pull him down the street. 

"You seem rather excited about something my dear," Thomas chuckled as he followed her. 

"It shouldn't be too far," Edith murmured, half to herself and half to Thomas. 

"What isn't?" 

Briefly pausing, Edith turned to him and gently squeezed his hand, "it is a surprise. After you mentioned London, I remembered something. I hope you will enjoy it."

"I am certain I will," he replied softly. 

It wasn't long before Edith halted them a short distance before a rather imposing and intricate cast iron gate. Solid limestone walls ran alongside. 

"What is this place?" 

"A place of higher education," Edith explained. "Alan studied here."

"Did he just?" Thomas muttered, not liking the tone with which she mentioned the Doctor. 

"Indeed," she sighed, her eyes fixed to the series of buildings before her. 

The more he observed, the more Thomas realised that she was right. The architecture was very much similar to England's own Oxford university. The sight brought on a wave of nostalgia. It felt like an eternity ago since he had left. 

"Thomas?" Edith said softly, chuckling as he blinked before looking down to her. "You were a little distant," she explained gently. 

"Memory lane I suppose," he murmured. 

"I thought you said this was your first visit?" Edith asked, confused. 

Thomas smiled at her and shook his head. "I was simply recalling my own time at such an establishment at home in England."

"Ah," she breathed. "It is quite beautiful, is it not?" 

Thomas nodded, soon finding that he agreed. "Yes. Quite."

When meeting his gaze, Edith felt hear creep up her cheeks when she saw him gazing at her instead. "Come," she whispered, bashfully averting her gaze. "There is still so much I wish to show you and it is almost midday."

"Lead the way my dear."

Nodding in thanks, she smiled shyly and hooked her arm through his own. 

The creaking of the gate ought to have alerted them. 

Relieved that her visit had been relatively uneventful, Y/N pulled the gates open with her free hand. With any luck, she would be home soon. A faint smile curved her lips as her mind wondered down to her second, more private studio. It was not often that she visited it, but this break between receiving commissions had provided her with that time. 

The tug on her skirt brought her back to the present only a moment too late. The hem of her dress, it seemed, had snagged on the pike that helped to secure the gate in place when it stood open. Stumbling forward, she winced as she heard a loud rip before crashing to her knees, her arms flinging out to brace her fall. As a consequence, her folio fell as though thrown, thus scattering pages of her work upon the pavement of the sidewalk. 

Her day had evidently been going smoothly for long enough. 

Muttering frantically under her breath, Y/N tore the ruined hem free of the gate and began to crawl across the sidewalk, snatching up pieces of her work as she went. The blood had long since rushed to her face as mortification flooded her. She felt the accusing eyes of passersby practically brand her as she continued to collect her scattered, and most likely ruined, work. 

It was only when a black gloved hand appeared before her, holding a fair number of pages, did she summon what courage she had and looked up. _"Ó le do thoil níl,"_ she whimpered softly. 

"That was quite the tumble," Thomas said gently, noting how her trembling hand reached to take the collected pages from him. "Are you alright?" 

She found herself nodding frantically before forcing herself to stop. "Only my pride is bruised, Sir," she replied timidly. "You needn't trouble yourself."

"I recall you saying those words to me once before," he remarked, smiling softly. 

Shame filled her and suddenly she wished herself any place but this. 

"May I help you stand?"

Y/N blinked up at him before finding her voice. "I am quite alright Sir. But I thank you for the kind offer." With those words, she shakily pushed herself back onto her feet and silently cursed herself as she stumbled a few steps.

"Are you quite certain you are alright?" Thomas asked, genuine concern lacing his words. 

"Yes," she whispered, "quite." 

"Those illustrations you carry, are they yours?" 

Y/N shook her head and clutched the refilled folio closer. "They belong to my employer."

Humming thoughtfully, Thomas regarded her. She looked far from the collected sculptor's assistant. The poor thing was trembling most likely from the shock of it all. The blood that had flushed her cheeks had receded somewhat. Her hands, he noticed, were bare and not clad in the gloves he had seen her wear last time. 

"They are very fine," he complimented. "Your employer certainly seems to have an eye for detail." 

Overcome with shyness, she ducked her head and mumbled a quiet thanks. 

"How utterly rude of me," Thomas said suddenly, making her look to him in surprise. "At this, our second meeting, I have utterly neglected to properly introduce myself."

"There really is no need Sir," Y/N said quickly, holding up a hand. "I am no one of consequence."

"I highly doubt that," he replied softly before sweeping into a bow. "Sir Thomas Sharpe, at your service."

Y/N could not help but smile, the expression remaining even as he rose, meeting her gaze. "Y/N Byrne," she replied and out of instinct, held out a hand. Then, just as quickly, she made to retract it. 

Thomas it seemed, had different ideas. Chuckling, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. 

The touch of his lips on her bare knuckles was sure to have branded her. 

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrne," he said at last, letting her hand go and standing to his full height once more. "I trust any meetings in the future will result in fewer injuries to your person?" 

_'If I should be so lucky to see you again,'_ she thought to herself before clearing her throat with a small cough and nodding, only once this time.

"Excellent," he said, stepping back.

It was then that Y/N realised, with dawning horror and further embarrassment, just who was standing beside him. "Miss," she bobbed a curtsy to Edith. "I apologise sincerely for this interruption to your day."

"It is no matter," she dismissed with a small wave of her free hand and smiled at Y/N. An expression, Y/N realised, that she never wanted to see again. It was as thin and as sharp as one of her father's razors.

Stealing one last glance at Thomas, Y/N pivoted on her heels and promptly walked in the opposite direction, her ruined hem trailing lightly behind her.

"You needn't have done that Sir Thomas," Edith said the moment the other woman was out of earshot. "She appeared to have it all in hand."

"She was in need of assistance," Thomas replied. "And some of the pages were far from her reach. Surely you will not anger at my helping someone in need?"

Sighing, Edith shook her head. "No. I suppose I can't."

"You seem worried my dear," Thomas said softly, reaching to take both her hands in his.

"Me? I am quite alright."

"Are you sure?" He asked, gently smoothing his thumb over her hands.

"Positive," she beamed up at him. "Now come along, there still much to see and father has invited you and Lucille to dine with us this evening."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ó ifreann fuilteach! = Oh bloody hell!
> 
> Ó le do thoil níl = Oh please no. 
> 
> (Both translated from Irish)


	6. Hades and Persephone

The hands. The lips. The eyes. Sketches made in charcoal and led. Sketches made with only spots of colour from her paints. All around her were partially completed plans for her new project. Something however, was stopping her. No line or curve she drew looked to be quite right and while she swore it was a mirror image, something was just not right.

It was something she could not quite pinpoint and it had long since driven her to distraction. Letting her head fall in her hands, she felt the warmth of the afternoon sun warm the back of her neck where it shone through the room's sole window. Rainbows from her hanging crystals were thrown against the opposing wall, something that never failed to make her smile.

Heaving a deep sigh, she pushed herself to stand. Closing her eyes for but a moment, she sought to recall every memory. Her ink stained fingers traced the air before her as though she were drawing, bringing a creation to life.

Her hand fell when her eyes opened.

Running a hand though her hair, she looked to where her now cold tea sat amongst her half completed sketches. Shaking her head, she retrieved the cup and let her fingers trail over the papers before making for the door.

The scene that greeted her was one that stole her speech from her. Her cup would have fallen to the ground beneath, had she not caught it with her other hand the moment the cup had begun to slip.

A young man stood in the company of her parents. A young man whom she never thought to see mingling with her kind, let alone in her house! Her movements had the cold tea spill over the side of the cup. Quickly averting her gaze, she directed her attentions to the tea droplets clinging to her hand and wrist.

"Y/N, dear," her mother spoke up. "Mr. Byrne has a visitor, but I am sure you will be able to see to it on his behalf?"

Catching her mother's meaning, Y/N nodded and finally looked up, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Indeed, mother. Thank you."

"I was informed that your employer is engaged at present."

"Indeed, Sir," she replied, meeting his blue gaze only briefly. "How might I assist you in his absence?"

"You see," Thomas said, setting his top-hat on the dining table that stood beside them. "I was looking to commission a piece from him."

Her eyes lit up, if only briefly. "Indeed I do see, Sir," she said. "Do you have a concept in mind already? If that is not so, please do not fret, Mr.Byrne has a great many sketches you may choose from."

His reply did not come right away. Her hands fidgeted before her despite her evident efforts to still them and they were bare, he noticed. "You need not worry," he said at last. "I did indeed make my way here with an idea."

"Excellent," Y/N said, slipping into her role of assistant rather easily. Clasping her hands together, she chanced another glance at his face, noting how the sun shone across his features, thus illuminating his eyes. Shaking herself, she licked her lips as subtly as she could and refocused. "Might I inquire as to the nature of the piece?"

"Of course," he nodded. "I have noticed that your master appears to favour the Greek and Roman deities."

"Yes," she said, chuckling and looked towards the greenhouse that stood but a short distance away. "He is rather fond of them. Finds them all quite fascinating. There is an elegance and timelessness to them that cannot quite be found elsewhere."

"I quite agree," Thomas murmured, watching her. It was clear she shared in her master's love of the art form and that period in time.

"You must forgive me," she said suddenly, surprising him. "I have completely neglected to ask what this piece might be."

"It is quite alright," he said, holding up a hand and smiling. "It is clear to me that you share your master's enthusiasm. But as for this piece, I would be very much appreciative if he were to be able to create a sculpture of not one, but two people."

"Two people?" Y/N repeated, she had never done that before. Just what did he have in mind to ask such a thing?

"Indeed," he answered. "A man and a woman. Of the Greek Pantheon."

She knew what was coming. Zeus and Hera were much loved in the art world and displayed in many different styles. "Oh, Sir?"

Thomas nodded, already he could see the cogs of her mind begin to turn. "Hades and Persephone."

Y/N was sure she had misheard. That story, while one of her favourites, was not as favoured by artists. Hoping her face displayed nothing of her surprise, she nodded.

"Unusual, I know."

This made her smile and she shook her head. "I shall not lie to you, Sir. This is a surprise to me. But I am sure Mr.Byrne will be delighted, he does enjoy a challenge."

Thomas smiled. "I am glad to hear it."

"If you would follow me, Sir?" She said, gesturing to the greenhouse.

"Will your parents not mind you inviting a man to be alone with you?" Thomas asked, stepping back to maintain a respectful distance. "Mr.Byrne?"

Y/N shook her head. "I appreciate your concern, Sir and I know how improper it must seem, but please, I will simply sketch something for you, so you may have a better picture of what the end product may appear as."

"Mr.Byrne trusts you with making such arrangements?"

"He does, Sir," she replied, folding her hands before her. "He makes the finishing touches you see. I am only permitted to do this if he cannot do so himself."

Wordlessly, Thomas followed her. Her simple, but well loved gown hung a short way off the floor, her simple slippers making hardly a sound as she moved. When at last they came to their destination, he swore he had stepped into another world.

An abundance of foliage and blooms greeted him, unlit lanterns and oil lamps winking at him in the sunlight. Following behind her, he watched as she let her fingers brush lightly against the leaves she passed by, only stopping when they came to a table.

The table, as covered in papers and candles and candle stumps as it was, reminded him very much of his own back home. He watched in silence as she began to shuffle through the papers, her fingertips lightly tracing each illustration before putting it to the side.

"Here we are," she announced suddenly, shaking him from his silent observation as she brandished a clean sheet of paper. Thomas watched as she readied her instruments and noticed for the first time just how dark her fingertips were, the side of her right palm equally as so. "Hades and Persephone," she muttered, narrowing her eyes in thought.

"Fear not," he said, relieved to find his voice once more. "I am familiar with their tale. I simply wish for something others may not expect to see."

She nodded in time with his words and hummed under her breath. There was a pause to her movements before she spoke again, this time a little softer than before. "I wonder..." she murmured, trailing off as she began to draw.

In fascination he watched her. Beneath her pencil, a scene came to life. A scene he might never have expected to see associated with these two subjects. With her head canted to the side in concentration, she drew Persephone seated, the shape of a window behind her. With his head resting in her lap, was presumably Hades. Their clothing was ornate, displaying their wealth and status.

It was beautiful. It exuded an air of calm he had not expected. The flowers cast through the goddess's hair were held by her husband as their hands were joined on his chest as he gazed up at her. She wore a crown of woodland flowers, while his own circlet of metal lay beside her.

"There," she murmured, drawing away from the illustration. "I know it is only rough and nowhere near as fine as Mr.Byrne's, but-"

"It is quite wonderful," Thomas said, cutting in and nodding towards the sketch.

Y/N could not stop the smile. "May I believe that you approve, Sir?"

"Indeed you may," he replied. "My expectations have been met."

"That is all I wish to hear," she said and set the pencil down. "Now, may I inquire as to the date you wish for the finished product?"

"How long might a piece like this take to create?"

Here she frowned in thought, unaware of how her companion was watching her. Her darkened fingers drummed lightly against the page on the table beside her, leaving faint marks. "Regarding the size, Sir," she said at last. "Will this be large?"

Thomas nodded. "Approximately eight feet in height and seven feet in width."

Y/N was hard pressed not to widen her eyes at the measurements he gave. Her mind's eye conjured up an image that was much larger than any piece she had thus far completed. This would indeed take a fair amount of time. Forcing a smile, she nodded. "A most impressive size, to be sure," she replied. "This will take some time to create."

"I understand."

Watching him as he saw himself out, she sighed and closed her eyes. Just what had she gotten herself into? Her other project would now have to wait. This one would take precedent and until it was completed, she would be able to focus on little else.


End file.
